


Crossroads

by yuni3010



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Eren Yeager, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Eventual Levi/Eren Yeager, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Forced Marriage, Levi/Eren Yeager-centric, M/M, Mikasa Ackerman & Levi Are Related, Minor Character Death, Multi, Omega Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), One-Sided Mikasa Ackerman/Eren Yeager, Single Parents, Twins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25174789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuni3010/pseuds/yuni3010
Summary: Levi thinks he is about to reach his lowest point. His mother has just passed away. He has to deal with the aftermath of indirectly self-expelling his daughters from school. His job is killing him. The last thing he needs is his ex-boyfriend, now married to his cousin, traipsing back onto his life.(Or, Eren has made a lot of questionable decisions and attending the memorial service of his ex-boyfriend’s mother possibly tops most of them.)
Relationships: Levi/Eren Yeager
Comments: 14
Kudos: 87





	1. Labyrinth

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everybody! Thank you for clicking in.  
> I was itching to write something again, for I've been wanting to get a lot of things out my mind lately and writing has always been a great outlet. That's how this story was born. It's loosely based on some personal experiences with my family, which means that it'll get a bit antsy sometimes, but I'll try to keep it light because I'm a sucker for fluff. Keep in mind that I'm trying to navigate my way through writing again, so feedback and comments are highly appreciated!  
> Again, thank you so much for reading. Hope you like it. Stay safe!

_I’m done with this bullshit,_ Levi thinks.

In front of him, the kindergarten’s new principal—whose name Levi has yet to learn, even when it has been a few weeks since the beginning of the school year—squirms under the heat of his stare. He savors the feeblest amount of satisfaction at the display of fearful discomfort. 

Supposedly, when it comes to handling ‘blameless civilians’, he should not take advantage of what has been drilled into his brain during his time in the academy, or during his life in the streets prior that. He could argue that he is hardly causing any harm, however. It is a default mode by now—years of dealing with all sort of scumbags, under legal parameters and otherwise, have honed his gaze, have shaped his body language to demand something akin respect. His below-average size and status have made countlessimbeciles undermine him before, so being _this way—_ bad-tempered, blunt, unfriendly, rude, crass, and whatever else Hanji has described him as—is what has saved him tons of trouble. It forces sensible-enough idiots to give him a reasonable wide berth.

He hopes that, now, it will be enough to force the woman behind the desk to think twice before ever referring to his daughter as _a problem child_ again. 

Behind him, the door of the office opens and closes again, followed by heels tapping the floor like rain going pitapat against a window. He does not turn, knowing already who has entered, and what sorts of news she is going to announce.

A nervous sigh. “Mrs. Forster’s on her way. She’ll be here soon”, Mina says, voice even quieter than five minutes ago, downright apologetic.

Levi does not think his daughter’s teacher should feel sorry. Maybe an early intervention would have prevented the incident altogether, sure, but Mina was present and available, and managed to interrupt the fight and separate the kids before the situation could escalate—which is something he can say not many parents even bother to considerate. Levi has learned enough about tiny brats being insufferable not to blindly point fingers. At the end of the day, that approach is counterproductive and useless.

“Thank you, Mrs. Carolina”, the principal responds, obnoxiously polite, a forced smile twisting her red lips upward.

The door shuts and the high-strung quietude returns.

Levi sighs. He has been at the end of a gun barrel, has seen true bloodthirst in cynical eyes, and felt less tense than now.

He hates coming to these type of meetings. He hates listening to repetitive speeches that unsubtly criticize his child-rearing skills, and hates even more being pressed to wait for a conciliating talk that will likely spark more disagreements than solve anything. That happens too often in the capital, like a toxic social pattern infecting _everything_. It is that kind of things, intimately related to the idiosyncratic ideology cemented in the inner city and immediate vicinity, that make him resent moving into the safe confinements of Sina.

It is rather ironic how their country’s proclaimed _core of progress_ is long overdue for some humanitarian improvements. Here, being a mateless omega at thirty-six is an overly scandalous stigma, and being a single-parent on top of that equals to having committed a hate crime against society.

Levi’s temples pound at the thought. He finally diverts his gaze from the principal and looks leftward.

In the chair next to him, his five years old remains stubbornly silent. She has refused to peep a word ever since Levi had waltzed into the office with a less than amicable semblance. The principal had immediately fired a long, passive-aggressive lecture about bad deportment, and why violence should never be an option, and gave him no time to admonish her anyhow—Levi thought that it was funny that the principal would preach that to a captain who has worked with homicides and special victims’ cases for most part of his career and is well-versed in violent crimes, enough to supervise an entire unit in the central business district. She has no idea of what she is talking so highly about.

Violence cannot be contained with some moralizing words. Actions are needed. _Discipline_ is indispensable, and still, it could never be enough.

Levi checks his watch again. It has been an hour since he received the call. His tolerance is plummeting. He knows the pocket-sized spitfire he has for a daughter is faring no better. She looks like she is about to explode, cheeks rosy and puffy, eyebrows pressed together, fingers clutching the chair’s edge until they have whitened.

“Gabi”, he finally breaks the silence.

To his surprise, he sounds more tired and less incensed than what he had anticipated.

His daughter’s spine goes painfully straight, and she peeks at him with wide-eyes that scream troublemaker. Levi has gone over this thousand times before, ever since her eye-color started to set in when she was around six months old, yet it never ceases to fluster him the fact that Gabi resembles his other grandmother’s with uncanny faithfulness: expressive amber irises, thick black-hair, softly sun-kissed skin.

_She is growing to be as beautiful as Carla._

Gabi flushes under his scrutiny, tightening thin lips and lowering that gaze which glimmers like liquid gold. Her hands fists the hem of her neon-green hoodie, so green it almost looks yellow, and Levi scrunches his nose when he notices that her jeans are dirty around the knees. Half the time his personal phone rings, he is apprehensive that it would be a call from their school informing him that Gabi has broken a bone while climbing on something dangerous. 

She can be a handful. _Like father, like daughter._

“Gabi, look at me when I’m talking to you. Please.”

She frowns before begrudgingly lifting her chin.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Levi asks.

He was not planning on having this conversation with principal’s bothersome presence nearby, but he is done wasting time doing _nothing_.

His daughter begins fidgeting, mumbling something under her breath that he does not catch. Levi leans a bit closer.

“What was that?”

“Floch’s _stupid_ ”, she growls.

“That’s not how we refer to classmates—” The principal bristles, giving them a displeased look.

Levi lifts a hand, staring disapprovingly at his daughter before she can disrespect the older woman, and before he feels provoked enough to do so himself.

“Gabi, calm down. I know you’re angry, but if you don’t talk to me, I can’t understand you.”

“But _papa_ —”

“Breathe”, he orders, steady, slow, emphasizing each syllable. “With me. Come on.”

“But papa”, her bottom lip quivers and her eyes swell with furious tears. He steels himself and hopes this will not spiral into a terrible meltdown as he moves to kneel to her eye-level.

He hesitates before rubbing her cheeks, wiping the tears that glide down.

“What made you so angry?” He utters. “You can tell me.”

“He _hurt_ Frieda.”

“Frieda is hurt?”

He tucks his surprise away and recapitulates what the principal’s assistant said to him on the phone. Gabi had reacted negatively to a classmate’s teasing and had slapped him. He already suspected the _teasing_ part was a poor cover-up for potential bullying; Levi knows his daughter, and she might be impulsive and fiery and a headache when she wants to be a little shit, but she never hits when angry—her worst tantrums have involved throwing herself onto the ground and being a hysterical mess, but she has not raised a hand or hurled a toy at him before (unlike her sister, who was quite the irritable toddler).

He had assumed Gabi’s teacher would provide more details to work with and understand why his daughter would lash out in the first place. Unfortunately, Mina has not been allowed anywhere close to the office, not until the other guardian arrives—which, in retrospective, should have been a concerning sign.

Back to the main point: no one said anything about Frieda. He would have remembered. He would not have thought that she was in her classroom, safe and unharmed.

Levi chastises himself for his naivety before directing an assessing look at the new principal. She has plastered that tight-lipped, saccharine smile on again. It nauseates him.

“Where is Frieda?”

“She’s at the infirmary”, she says. “She’s perfectly fine, Mr. Ackerman.” 

He wonders if she is delusional enough to believe that is a decent answer. 

He swiftly slips his jacket back on, palming his pockets to make sure his badge and wallet have not fallen out, that his sidearm is still strapped in place, and gestures for Gabi to stand up, offering his hand. She easily hops off the chair and rushes to hold it, and Levi cannot contain that tiny smile that slips at her eagerness. Gabi does not dwell well with adult’s ‘nonsense’.

“Mr. Ackerman—sit down, please”, the principal clears her throat. “It’s just a small bump on the head, nothing to worry about. We’re not done yet.”

The same amount of apathy he reserves for some of the bureaucratic buffoons that work above him and whom he is forced to interact every day churns the pit of his stomach.

“Why wouldn’t you mention that Frieda got hurt in the first place?”

Ire flutters under his skin like growing fire. He breathes in, and out, and keeps observing the woman that peers back with that fake smile.

“Mr. Ackerman, please, let’s not make a huge deal out of this. It was a common accident in the playground. Mrs. Carolina would’ve told you during pick-up time”, she dismisses the topic with practiced professionalism and signals the chair he was occupying seconds before. “Our main concern here is your daughter’s behavior, so please—”

“You already wasted enough saliva on that worthless speech before. You could’ve spent more on something actually relevant”, he points out, making a conscientious effort to keep his language child-appropriate around Gabi, who glares at the principal with as much intensity as a thirty-six inches little girl is capable of conjuring.

The woman’s face goes livid, and then flushes with irritation. “Mr. Ackerman, I must warn you that I won’t stand this kind of disrespect.”

“How did she get hurt?” He presses. “What did this Floch kid do?”

“It was a misunderstanding”, she replies. It seems she is having a hard time keeping her composure intact. “Your daughter fell off a swing and got hit by the edge—”

Levi forces his body back and exhales sharply.

“Excuse me? That could have fucking cracked her _head_ open.”

“Mr. Ackerman, your language—”

“Let’s go, Gabi.”

“Papa, Frieda fell but—” Gabi tugs at his wrist, insistent, strong. “Floch pushed Freida from the swing—I saw it. I was sticking up!”

His gaze softens.

At that moment, Mrs. Forster and her son appear with Mrs. Carolina hot on their heels. The mother’s narrowed eyes are glued to her smartphone while she drags her wobbly kid along. She does not bother with pleasantries, barely acknowledging the people present in the office and who have been waiting for her. _Wonderful,_ Levi internally laments, _this is going to be so fun_.

The red-haired boy who Levi assumes is _Floch_ is clutching a cold pack against the right side of his face, his cheek looking red and puffy. Levi should not be proud, but he is, inwardly. It seems his daughter can pack some mean punch. The boy sticks his tongue at Gabi once they make eye-contact, and recoils like a scaredy-cat when his daughter bluff-charges at him.

The little punk is lucky Levi is there to hold Gabi back by the head of her hoodie in case she decides to stir more trouble. She usually has a bit more of self-control, as much as a five-years-old is capable of having anyways, but Levi would know how any self-righteous sense justice can be a double-edge sword. In their family, it runs hot and unpredictable. 

“Mrs. Forster, what a pleasure to see you! Please, have a seat”, the principal motions happily. Her tone has raised a pitch, airier than before, underlying submissive and complaisant. Levi almost wants to pry to know what kind of favor this woman offers the school, for the principal to be such an ass-kisser. Her name sounds familiar, but Levi does not think their kids have shared a class before.

The tall, svelte woman looks down at Gabi, then scans Levi from head to toes and openly scorns. Her contempt comes as plain as Levi’s increasing exasperation.

“How come they are still here, Mrs. Holt? That girl should’ve been expelled already—she’s evidently a menace. No wonder why”, she sneers when looking at him. _No wonder why that kid is growing to be a jerk, too._

She pulls Floch forward and plops down on the vacant chair while the boy shuffles next to her. Levi weights his options, and decides to stay, giving Gabi a look when she rumbles under her breath.

“Let’s get this done with. I had to rush out of a meeting—my husband’s associates are gathering at our house tonight and this entire thing is messing my schedule. Organizing these type of events is not exactly a walk in the park, you know.”

Levi presses his lips together. He is going to pop a vein. _Of course, it is not. No one would enjoy preparing a fancy pigsty for the big hogs of the city._

“Ah, Mrs. Forster, I apologize for the inconvenience—we’re so incredibly sorry we had to bother you for something so insignificant. It’s protocol, however. I hope you can be understanding.”

“Mina”, Levi regards the young teacher, careful, and she returns a desperate look that says hundreds of things at once. “Could you get Frieda for me, please?”

She sags in relief. “Of course! I’ll be back in a second, Mr. Ackerman.”

Levi scoops Gabi up and sits her on his lap when the principal dives into another lecture, her ostracizing side-remarks about single parents neglectful of derelict children impossible to forget. She is getting creative at the metaphors, he will recognize her that. Levi has to bite his tongue to save his input for later, for when the two women exchange opinions that he will deem fit of imbeciles and pretend to blame the entire issue on Gabi, because he _knows_ they will.

In the meantime, he tunes out Mrs. Foster’s raving about her husband’s influence in the inner governmental core, and for the second time in less than half an hour, Levi thinks, _I’m so tired of this bullshit._

* * *

_There is a small child beside him, no taller than Gabi or Frieda. Messy brown hair, dark teal eyes. Features that are so much like Eren’s, it renders Levi a bit speechless._

_Sometimes, it still haunts him—the main reason they agreed to break up._

_Eren wanted a family. Levi could not give him that. At least, that was what he thought._

_The circumstances got messy._

_“This is—well, it's...”_

_Levi snorts at the sudden reserve. “Your kid. I figured.”_

* * *

“Honey, you’re home early!”

Levi halts with a dry hand pending midair, keys tingling as they graze the key-holder of the organizer coat-rack he recently mounted by the entryway. Worry arches his eyebrows and sharp paranoia stiffens his posture. 

_She_ should not be in the kitchen. She should be in her room instead, tucked in bed, either watching one of those sappy soap-operas she adores so much, or reading another detective thriller that makes her romanticize his job—Levi has yet to decide which one he prefers better. She should not be up, exerting herself again.

The stunned spell is broken once Gabi toes her sneakers off and hastily thrusts them into the storage bench, making it quiver with the abrupt force. The chirpy greeting has gotten her excited enough to drop her backpack instead of hanging it, like he always asks them to do. 

“Oi, Gabi—” 

“ _Mamie_!” She squeaks and scurries away, shoeless, in socks as green as her hoodie, and almost skids straight into a towering bookcase. Levi watches her go with tired, resigned eyes.

He has no willpower left to nag her about wearing her slippers, or being mindful of the furniture that could fall on her. He nailed that bookcase to the wall already anyways, and at the end of the day, he could use some rough hand-scrubbing to vent a little pent-up energy. He cannot promise Gabi’s socks will survive the treatment, but whatever.

He wordlessly crouches down and helps Frieda to store her shoes away, thanking her quietly when she wiggles her feet into her fluffy indoor boots. He gathers their backpacks and slings them into the rack hookers, staring longer than necessary at the cartoonish faces smiling back at him. It feels almost mocking, in a way.

When Frieda asks him if she can help him with his jacket, Levi _breathes_ , privately cherishing the soothing warmth that spreads through his chest. Their spontaneous moments of kindness reaffirm that he must be doing something right, or so he dares to hope. 

“Thank you, kid.”

Frieda beams. She shares Gabi’s round eyes and thick eyebrows, and it results impossible to deny their resemblance whenever they grin in that playful, happy manner. However, unlike her twin, Frieda has inherited Levi’s paler complexion, his silkier black hair, and the silvery blue that swirls around her irises. If it were not for the shape of her eyes, Levi would say that Frieda has taken mostly after his own mother. _Which reminds him…_

“Mom, what are you doing up?” He calls out, shaking his jacket off and placing his gun on top of the highest shelf.

As he waits for a response that does not come, Frieda darts into the corridor, drawing a beeline toward the bathroom.

“No touching the bump, Frieda—”

“Yes, papa!”

Levi crosses the living room, picking a discarded cardigan resting on the back of the gray sofa, and trudges into the small but cozy kitchen.

Gabi’s upper half is perched over the edge of the butcher-block countertop, and a bar stool balances precariously under her knees as she rambles about their day. Levi surges forward, and forces the chair into position while straightening Gabi’s posture as well. No one told him that parenting basically consists of trying to keep your kid alive eighty percent of the time. 

The cheeky troublemaker shamelessly beams at him before reverting to her story. She is retelling their visit to the ER, describing ‘the super-nice’ doctor who healed Frieda’s ‘unicorn bump’, which ‘sounds a lot cooler than goose egg’, and ‘the super-nice’ nurse that plaited her hair into a French braid while they waited for Frieda’s checkup to be done.

Levi attentively observes his mother as she listens to Gabi’s enthusiastic report. Kuchel sways tiredly by the stove, slim body facing away from the kettle that boils one of her fragrant teas, nodding to Gabi’s every word with a disposition that speaks volumes of genuine devotion. She looks so thin and frail in that lavender dress that fitted her so well last summer but now seems tauntingly loose on her frame, too big in places that should be fuller.

Not many things scare Levi, but his mother’s delicate condition terrifies him beyond belief.

“You’re supposed to be resting”, he mutters. He steps behind her and wraps the cardigan around her shoulders, watchful of her wavy curtain of obsidian hair that appears frail enough to fall under at the mercy of a weak sigh. “Autumn’s arriving earlier this year, so you need to cover yourself well, mother.”

“Hello, dear. Yes, yes, I _know_ ”, she chuckles, sounding exhausted yet not any less affectionate. It hurts to listen, excruciatingly so, and Levi has to suppress a grimace. “I needed to get up and make myself useful, though. The doctor said it should be fine. It’s not like I’m lifting weights or doing any hard work.”

“But mom—”

She shakes her head, refusing to listen. It is a common occurrence nowadays. Kuchel is a stubborn woman, almost as bad Levi is, and he is not really in the mood to get roped into a pointless discussion again. She will never acquiesce defeat, and Levi has discovered that trying to compromise with her is useless.

“Gabi says they won’t be going to school tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow, or the day after”, she copies Gabi’s childish speech, with that indulging smile of hers, and the little girl puffs and giggles stridently. “What does that mean?”

“It means that they aren’t going to _that_ school anymore”, he drops, taking a clean apron from the drawer. He sees no reason to beat around the bush, and he knows his mother is the least judging person to ask parenting advice. “I pulled them out.”

“You—” She falters, but her expression does not harden. She seems mostly curious. “ _What_? Why?”

“It’s a long story”, he squeezes his mother’s pale forearm and turns to Gabi, who is staring at the fruit basket with a deep frown. “Hey, kiddo. I’m going to start with lunch, and I need the space. Could you go play in your room?”

“Can I have candy?” Gabi questions first.

“No. You haven’t eaten yet. It’ll make you sick.”

Gabi puckers her lips, contemplative. After a moment, she chirps: “it’ll make me happy first.”

His mother covers her mouth with her hand, barely managing to stifle a laugh behind her palm. Levi snorts.

“You know the rules, Gabs: veggies before sweets. Go to your room. Please.”

She whines about grownups being mean and unreasonable, and slides off the chair. Before disappearing, though, she adds, “fruit is sick, papa!” And then runs toward their bedroom, calling for her sister to play with her.

Levi checks the fruit basket and plucks an apple with brown spots, and a peach that is at the brink of decomposition. It makes him twitch and clench his fists, for he is usually extremely careful when it comes to food storage.

Something frightening pops in the back of his head, but he fights to ignore the intrusive thought.

“So?” His mother softly asks, resuming their conversation. “What happened?”

Levi tosses the fruit into the organic waste, fingers jittery for a reason he does not want to acknowledge.

He takes a rattling breath before summarizing his daughters’ eventful morning, which Gabi has conveniently forgotten to reveal. _Floch, swing, slap, suspension._ He speaks mechanically, working parallelly on reheating their lunch: rolling his sleeves up and washing his hands, rounding his mother to take out a glass container from the fridge, emptying the tomato-quinoa soup he prepared last night into a pot, turning the stove on, and getting a wooden spoon to stir their meal.

“I suspect the principal was counting that Gabi wouldn’t get the chance to say anything about Frieda-”

“Why would she even want that?”

“Well, my guess is that she wanted to kiss Mrs. Forster’s ass, keep her all happy and shit. I found out she makes regular donations to excuse her absence from school events, so...”

His mother’s forehead dips with a worried frown. Levi stops for a second, noticing a wafer-thin layer of sweat gathered around her face, and a new rosiness coloring her cheeks.

“Go sit down, mom. You don’t look well.”

She does not listen, of course. “I feel fine. Just continue.”

“Mom”, he nearly pleas. Still, she denies him with a shake of her head.

“Levi.”

“Alright. It gets worse”, he rumbles and looks away. “Mrs. Forster said she’d sue the school if Gabi wasn’t appointed for _therapy_.”

At that, Levi pinches the bridge of his nose, a heavy downpour of irritation crashing on him as he relives the moment. His mother removes the whistling kettle from the stove, moving with the lethargic pace of a sick turtle, and despite his sour mood and boiling blood, Levi manages to crack a tiny smile once he notices that she has taken out two cups instead of one. Their mutual love for tea is something Levi treasures dearly.

He gently nudges her away from the stove and pours the tea himself. His mother responds with a disapproving half-glare, one that was once as scathing as his own, and though he knows she hates being treated like she is made out of glass, as much as he abhors being regarded like a helpless omega doll, he remains unapologetic.

“In the end, the principal informed me that she’d have to expel Gabi for her belligerence if I refused to cooperate, or something along those lines. Honestly, I was too furious to think properly. Two years of good conduct, of _zero_ fucking problems, and she threatens me with that sort of bullshit—I had been trying to keep my cool, but that was the last straw. Hence, I pulled them out.”

“Language, honey”, she tuts, her bony fingers languidly massaging his shoulders.

He feels sad, all of the sudden, remembering a time when her grip was stronger.

“I can’t believe they’d resort to something like that. Isn’t that just—ridiculous?”

“Can’t say I’m surprised. The capital’s full of stuck-ups, haven’t you noticed? It’s what keeps it thriving.”

To be frank, Levi is not proud of how the conflict evolved. He is not proud of his reaction, more specifically. He sighs, recalling his response, and how he cherished the heat that colored Mrs. Forster’s face once he told her that she might have the money to provoke whatever ruckus pleased her, but he had people in and out of the system that owned him enough favors to encounter her pissy whims.

That was reckless of his part, a violation of self-imposed codes, but the dreadful expression it earned him made the trouble worthy.

“I know it isn’t ideal”, he continues after a minute of silence. “I can’t hold them back a year, of course. I spoke to Mike while we were at the hospital and he knows some people who might help. If that doesn’t work out, I was considering homeschooling—redesigning this year’s budget for the tuition. I know some people from a local homeschool group who could help me with the requirements.”

“Are you sure homeschooling would be the best option right now, sweetie?” She questions, apprehension curling around her words. Regardless, she manages to still sound supportive, manages to make Levi feel adequate enough. “I know the year’s just started, but the girls seemed so happy in their new class. Interacting with kids their age’s important.”

“I’m not saying it’ll be a permanent fixture. It’s just a consideration”, he expels a puff of air, a bit exasperated by the implications of this unexpected outcome. “I’m trying to be practical.”

“I know you are, mon chérie.”

She pats his back in a soothing motion, up and down, then in circular movements. It reminds him of his childhood. Tiny spaces, dusty floors, stenches that would make him sick… _but_ a lot of warmth.

It does help ease some of the knots coiled around his neck.

“I know things get crazy sometimes when you have kids, especially when you’re just one parent, but I have no doubts that you’ll figure the best solution. You’ve done an excellent job so far, keeping them safe, healthy and happy—” Her voice cracks with a gasp, and Levi shifts, surprised to see his mother getting emotional.

Her blue eyes blur behind a wall of unshed tears. For a second, he gapes at her, rendered speechless. Kuchel is not a sentimentalist woman, has never been, could not really be. Not so openly, not unless she wished to be endlessly tramped over by a world that knew no mercy. Their circumstances were volatile enough, and showing that kind of vulnerability would have been condemning.

“In fact, Levi, you’re a doing so much better than I could’ve ever dreamed of doing myself”, she admits. It sounds a little pitiful, a little saddening, but still incredibly genuine. “You’re tremendous, and I hope someday you give yourself enough credit for that.”

“Don’t say that”, he grits. It upsets him, seeing her beating over things that were out of her control. He also hates the fact that he lacks the finesse for this type of situations. “You did what you could, with what you had. You kept me safe. Things were hard, and shitty, but I’d never hold that against you.”

She releases a few tears, sniffing, leaning to peck his cheek. Her lips are slightly cracked, and their brush is a bit rough. Nevertheless, the love is unmistakable.

“Thank you for being so kind to me, Levi.”

He shudders, his gut twisting with an ominous feeling.

“Mom, please—”

“Papa, mamie?” An upbeat voice interrupts them, a beacon of light to escape the thick, somber conversation.

Frieda peeps over the doorway, owlish eyes blinking curiously. She has changed her school clothes for a colorful organic-cotton dress, and though the size is meant for kids her age, it still looks somewhat big, too loose-fitting, just like his mother’s attire.

It further twists Levi’s guts.

“Hey, ma chérie”, Kuchel’s visage brightens, and her eyes brim with youthful joy, as it always does at the sight of the twins. Only then, Levi can breathe better. “How are you feeling? Gabi told me you got hurt today.”

“A mean boy hit me”, Frieda pats the side of her forehead that is free of any swollen _unicorn bump_ , and grins the widest. “But Gabi kicked ass for me!”

Levi mirrors his mother’s fleeting expression of disbelief. Regardless, they do not correct her, simply exchanging a knowing look.

“Did you need anything, Frikka?”

“Yes-” She nods with enthusiasm, walking to wrap her arms around her grandmother’s legs. Kuchel pats her hair, lovingly, and she wrinkles her eyes with a lovely grin. “We wanna play with rainbow blocks. Pieck puts the box on the tall shelf, papa—can you take them down? Please?”

Once he registers her petition, Levi almost slams the wooden spoon down, alarmed. He hid the two-step ladder in the basement so the twins would not try tiptoeing on it to reach the top cabinets in the kitchen, searching for Halloween candies that are not there. He belatedly realizes he might have miscalculated the risks because _he knows_ his daughters.

He wipes his hands and unties his apron.

“Where’s Gabi?”

Frieda blinks. “Uh—”

It does not surprise Levi when a crash springs out of the girls’ bedroom alongside Gabi’s loud, piercing shriek.

“Oh, heavens—”

Levi rushes to the entrance of the kitchen. “Oi, Gabi! Are you hurt?”

A pause. His daughter is not wailing, which is a good sign. Hopefully. _Or she could be laying, unconscious on the floor._

The thought electrifies Levi, goading him into action.

“Gabi—”

“I’m okay!”

He massages his temples once he stands under the frame of his daughters’ bedroom door and beholds the aftermath of his stupid blunder. In her endeavor to reach the wall-shelf with the Romanesque building set, Gabi stacked the bathroom’s wooden step stool on top of their low bookshelf and dragged the nightstand against it to help herself up. A problematic buildup.

She has knocked down a couple of Lego boxes, as well as some magnetic books and puzzles. It is not as bad as he was expecting, but still. It could have ended badly.

“I’m sorry?” She mumbles, twisting her fingers.

“Let’s tidy up—“He sighs. “And next time, ask for help, Gabi. You could’ve gotten seriously hurt.”

It takes fifteen minutes to clean the mess. It serves on their favor that the decor of the room is almost minimalist, so it is easy to spot any Legos or puzzle pieces around the bunk beds, the bookcase, or the small table with matching chairs. They move the dollhouses in the corner, too, to double-check that nothing is out of place—a [white-and-grey mansion](https://www.petiteamelie.co.uk/wooden-dolls-house.html) given by Hanji, and the [picturesque palace](https://www.littleearthnest.com.au/collections/dolls-houses/products/le-toy-van-daisylane-palace-dolls-house) that came from Erwin, because his friends are aware that Levi dislikes most plastic dolls and action figures, and the awful TV series where they came from. That is why his daughters own a diverse collection of eco-friendly toys: wooden animals, plants, and people that range from simple farmers to fairy godmothers. 

(He has been told that he might be drastic. He is working to find a middle ground).

“Pieck’s coming after lunch”, he informs, referring to their dark-haired babysitter that avidly appreciates his wine collection and who is one of the few persons to have ever met Levi’s cleaning standards. “Frieda, please remind her to give you two a full bath tonight.”

“Okay.”

“Tell her we have no homework, papa!” Gabi hurries over, giving him the last book that had fallen out of the shelf. “She never believes me!”

He smirks, but the curve wavers after reading the title. He quickly slots it back.

“Right. I’ll talk to her.”

He enjoys cleaning with his daughters’ assistance. Even though they tend to slow the whole process down—because there is always something funny to say, something funny to show him, or a hug and a kiss that cannot be given later—, those moments never fail to improve his mood. Maybe it is stupid, ridiculous even, but Levi adores spending time like that.

He marches back to the kitchen, his nose twitching at the strong smell.

“Mom, you can turn off the stove, it’s going to b—” He stops dead on his tracks, staring at his mother.

Kuchel lays sprawled on the floor, limp, horribly pale. Her limbs are arranged in odd directions, like those of a ragdoll that has fallen powerlessly on the ground, and her chest is rattling painfully weak. Levi blinks, and blinks, and blinks again, hoping that his mind is conjuring another intrusive image, but such reality stays solid. 

A switch turns on.

Levi reaches for his phone, dials the emergency number with fingers as rigid and cold as ice. He counts the tones under his breath, kneeling beside his mother to check for a pulse that is barely there, like a dying ember. His sight waters, but he shoulders through. He confirms his name, repeats his address, and stays in line for further instructions.

The soup boils and overflows behind him, making a jarring sound over the stove. The girls pad out of their bedroom but promptly freeze in the corridor when Levi barks at them to stay away from the kitchen. In the couple of minutes that pass before the ambulance arrives, Levi remembers the book Gabi handed him last again and again— _Sandglass,_ an illustrated story about death for kids to see it as natural part of the cycle of life.

Levi bought it after one particular case that shook the whole department and put his life at risk. It was in case something happened to _him,_ in case his mother had to explain why he was not around anymore.

_Apple, peaches, death._

_Death._

_Again. Again. Again._

Everything is a blur after the paramedics arrive.

* * *

Levi parks the car under a bushy tree, staring at the letters that seem to glare back at him from above. _Freudenberg’s Funeral Home_.

It is mind-numbing.

The entire place looks as strangely inoffensive as always, another old-fashioned villa at the outskirts of the city, resting close to a graveyard that is known for being packed with intricate mausoleums and corpses of famous people. The style of the house is foreign: three stories, asymmetrical wings, and imposing roof-line trimmed with decorative metals.

He sits back for a moment, gulping glass shreds down his parched throat. The crispy air cuts through his windpipes and leaves him breathing wetly, and he remembers telling his mother about fall coming sooner this year. Levi thinks the chill forebodes an early winter instead.

This is his third time visiting this forsaken parlor in the past three years. It gets somewhat easier to remain levelheaded when he already knows what scenery awaits him behind the double doors of the entrance. It is a bit easier to ignore the hurricane of his thoughts, splashed with hellish paranoia and debris of never-ending nightmares, when he has already been hit by the white light of the lobby, has sat on the cushioned seats in the chapels, has been enveloped by the strong scent of flowers and fading chemicals.

It hurts all the same, though. Hurts until he cannot feel it anymore.

“We are here, girls”, he breathes out, watchful of his tone. He unfastens his seatbelt and taps the wheel twice, again, _again_. A nervous tic, he absently notes. “Remember the rules: we use quiet voices inside and stay together.”

Gabi and Freida are strapped in their car seats, silent, the most silent they have ever. Levi eyes them through the rear-view mirror and feels his lungs constricting, then collapsing. His daughters are clad in black, and wear pearl hair-clips that used to belong to his mother. They look so dim and confused, so—unlike them.

Kuchel wrote down everything she wanted the girls to have, what she wished for Levi to preserve, and what she thought they should give away to charity and whatnot. He has yet to read the list throughout. 

_She was supposed to rest, to read and watch trivialities, not to—_

Levi breathes out again. “Okay?”

“Okay”, Frieda nods, timid.

“Okay”, Gabi echoes.

Levi keeps a steely grip on their hands as they ascend the steps to the porch. He thinks Frieda compliments the flower bushes under the windowsills, thinks she says something about hard-working bumblebees, but the way the wooden door cries when pushed open drowns her soft-spoken words. Levi thinks about asking, and then not.

Once inside, he meets the director in charge of his mother’s service, and he escorts them to their assigned chapel. He is a young man, considerably younger than Levi, and yet he works with a rigorous professionalism that can only come from years of experience. It has Levi wondering how long he has been preparing corpses and handling grieving ticking bombs—he would know how facing death on regular basis can both humanize and dehumanize someone, like a constant, restless seesaw.

“Mr. Ackerman, someone dropped by earlier. I know the flowers were already chosen, but this man came with a bunch of arrangements—” Marlowe nervously offers him a piece of paper, and Levi takes it with a frown. “He told me to give this to you. That you would _understand._ ”

Levi’s eyes widen, then narrow fast.

_I know Kuchel and you have always been careful with expenses, but we both know that she deserved the best. Sorry for your loss, kid._

_-Kenny._

After a second of consideration, he folds the handwritten note and pockets it. He feels even colder than before.

“So, Kenny’s still alive—good to know.”

“Who is Kenny?” Gabi questions, squeezing his hands. He suppresses the urge to grimace, never too fond of talking about his uncle.

“An old man that mamie knew.”

Frieda’s hold tightens this time.

“He was her friend?”

Levi chuckles, humorless. “Something like that.”

Marlowe appears stunned by his nonchalance. Levi shrugs and ushers the girls into the little chapel, surprised to find Pieck on a chair, clad in a black blazer and a long black skirt, waiting for them.

“I know you said you didn’t need me tonight”, she says in lieu of a greeting. Gabi and Frieda walk closer, and she tenderly pats both their cheeks before adding, “but still—she was a friend.”

Levi nods.

When his mother survived her first heart failure, the first thing she said to him after waking up was that she wanted a cremation and a small, private memorial service. Levi had been by her bedside for hours, had endured long conversations about organ damage and further complications, had gotten incredibly mad at the lightness of her petition, though he had not fully understood why back then. Now, he knows. He had been scared that this day would come, more than what he could have ever imagined. His mother never was.

He requested Marlowe to make the calls brief, precise and undemanding. The preamble was not exactly inviting, so he does not expect many to show up—not that many people in the city knew his mother in the first place. The guest list is modest at best: a handful of people from her reading club, a couple of neighbors who liked to come over to play chess and poker, some nuns from the church she liked to visit, and Levi’s most trusted subordinates.

Apart from them, the only people notified about his mother’s passing were Erwin and Hanji. He knew they would felt not solely insulted if left in the dark, but betrayed. Though Levi was extremely reluctant about including parts of his old life in this ordeal, he knew it would be unfair to disregard his friends’ care for his mother.

 _Heck_ , it would have been a low blow from his part. Erwin has been sending her bouquets every year, for every thinkable occasion—her birthday, Mother’s Day, _Grandmother’s_ Day—, and Shitty-glasses even mailed her an eyesore of a handmade quilt last Christmas, with too many colors and clashing patterns, but incredibly soft and warm. It was his mother’s favorite present, always hung up over the back of her armchair.

He does not want to admit it, but they are probably the only people he is looking forward to seeing. He supposes his uncle’s ephemeral manifestation was a good surprise, too. Sort-of. Kenny will always be his mother’s creepy-as-fuck older brother. He was not exactly the most stellar influence on Levi, but he thought him enough to survive, and was always as sincere as he could when it came to looking after Kuchel.

“Is death painful?”

Levi pauses, digesting the profound words pronounced in that light, melodious timbre. He thinks about it, contemplates how he could phrase it, and shakes his head slowly.

“No, kid. It’s more painful trying to stay alive—especially when someone’s sick like mamie was.”

As he stares ahead, studying the frail petals that form the fancy arrangements Kenny got, he wonders if he should have sugarcoated that. It stings to voice that truth. Levi was part of the problem from the start, wanting to hold onto her for as long as possible, and accepted that when it was too late. He cannot conceal the bittersweet resignation.

A quiet hiccup, a short hum, a brooding pause.

“So mamie’s not hurting?”

“No. She’s resting at last.”

“Oh”, Gabi sniffs. She stares emptily at her shoes for a moment, and Levi wonders what she could possibly be thinking when she nods to herself. “That’s—okay.”

“It’s okay to be sad”, he gulps. He remembers his uncle sneering, insulting him, snapping at him to grow a thicker skin, and feels strangely absent, rubbing spots that were once sore and seem to ache with the memories. “You can cry.”

“Why you don’t, papa?”

Levi simpers but cannot come up with a decent explanation.

“Your papa’s a bit shy with his emotions”, Pieck chips in. “So, he’s probably more comfortable crying when he’s alone.”

“But you don’t have to cry when alone, papa. That’s sad”, Frieda vehemently interjects, her eyebrows knitted together in concern. “We are here!”

“I know, Frikka. Thank you.” 

The few detectives under his command walk through the doors with sharp punctuality and Levi acknowledges each one with a brief nod: Petra and Oluo, Eld and Gunther, Mike and Nanaba. They are all there, wearing both formal apparels and somber expressions.

After exchanging formalities, Petra and Nanaba purposefully linger close to Pieck and his daughters, helping the babysitter to entertain Gabi and Freida, to keep them from clamming up entirely. Levi is immensely grateful about that. He doubts he could be the best support at the moment.

The memorial advances calmly, just like that. It reminds him of the steady flow of the river that encircles Sina’s northern area.

The fretful nuns, the old bookworms and even his supervisors make their appearances as well. Some patrol officers, too, the ones Levi respects because their work-ethic has remained adequate in an otherwise corrupt system. They pay their respects before approaching him to express their condolences, and though Levi hates being pulled into tight embraces or touched more than what is strictly necessary, he braces himself to receive the cordial gestures and bears the tears and other secretions spilled on his black jacket.

He is not a religious person, has never been and most likely would ever become one, but still thanks the spoken prayers. He attentively listens to everything else, mentally correcting someone whenever they share a fact about his mother that is not entirely accurate, like her becoming a widower at a young age—she was never married or mated, left behind by her partner that died later on—, or that she could at last be reunited with the brothers she lost years ago—only with one, because Kenny is alive, and even if he dies, Levi is positive the bastard is definitely not ending wherever his mother is.

It all reminds him of another person that might have wanted to attend, but Levi has not seen her in years, and had no mind to track her down in time for this ceremony. He does not regret failing to contact her, though.

Halfway through some woman’s eulogy, who is speaking wonders about Kuchel’s kindness and her inspiring disposition to help anyone however she could, Levi feels a hand resting on his shoulder. Heavy, strong, and obnoxiously warm. That is how he knows that both Erwin and Hanji have arrived. It is not an easy trip from Trost to the depths of Mitras, let alone on such short notice and with the current make-overs being done around the province, so Levi is thankful that they have made it.

As the chubby priest the nuns have brought stands to talk again, wobbling like a penguin to stand at the front of the chapel, Erwin taps his shoulder.

“Levi—a word?” He gestures outside.

He glances at his daughters, who are laughing gently at whatever story Nanaba is relating, and nods before following them into the adjacent courtyard. A couple of wakes are being hold down the hall, and Levi can hear the noises of mourners crying even through the walls. It is haunting, yet cathartic, in a way that seems heartbreakingly poetic.

He thinks his mother would have found the setup tragically beautiful. Maybe. She used to discover beauty in the strangest things, in the most unorthodox situations. Levi has an inkling that this would not have been an exception, that she would have liked the traditional villa by the thresholds of the countryside, a once rich home turned into a funeral parlor. The thought fills him with fire and ice at the same time, and he presses a palm against his chest, bewildered by the idle tempo of his heartbeat.

“Thank you for coming”, he says. “I almost didn’t invite you.”

He sneaks his hands in the pockets of his slacks, and lifts his chin, eyes tracing the fading shapes of the clouds scattered in the sky. It is useless to make small talk, it is useless to even fancy any pretense of normalcy. Levi merely wishes to appreciate the company before he has to return and face the home that will feel incomplete for a long while.

“We figured”, Erwin nods, following the direction of his gaze. His presence is as imposing as ever, but brings comfort to Levi in a way he would never admit it. “Still, we wouldn’t have missed it.”

“The trip must’ve been a pain in the ass.”

“It was!” Hanji exclaims, mannerisms as grandiose and theatrical as they tend to be, though they seem uncomfortable this time, somewhat forced. They slap his back hard, almost sending him forward, and he growls at them to _keep their hands to themselves,_ although he does not feel truly annoyed. “Did you know Mitra’s airport is temporarily closed? We had to take a fly to Stohess first and get here on train. The station was _packed_. I was sure we were going to get pickpocketed silly, but then I thought—who on their right mind would try to feel _Erwin_ up? No one, right?”

“I’m having a hard time discerning whether that was a compliment or not, Hanji.”

Hanji shrugs. “Come one, big man, use that big head of yours. What do you think?”

Levi can tell that Erwin is ruffled, even when every detail about him states precision and self-discipline, from his ironed trousers and white button-up with no perceptible wrinkles, to his perfectly trimmed haircut and clean shave. He is disturbed and not by Hanji’s stupid jokes.

Hanji’s uneasy smile further confirms his suspicions. Though the curve is the same quirky uplift of lips, there is periodical twitch that Hanji cannot control, and that appears whenever they have screwed up critically _._ Moreover, a thorny sentiment, a thing that fluctuates between guilt and panic, has Hanji’s gaze trembling. That is red flag for Levi, who knows Hanji enough to link their remorseful feelings with severe catastrophes. They have never been the calmest person, far from it, but the type of disquiet that has them fidgeting makes Levi instantly leery. 

“Alright, cut the crap. What did you both do?”

Although he can throw a few guesses, he repels any idea that might end with full acknowledgment of unsaid possibilities. Levi has personally asked them to come. He hopes they respected his wish to have them, and _them_ alone, present. 

But that wistful thinking fades as soon and fast as it has come. He is not stupid. He has known Erwin for _years_. He worked below him, under his constant supervision and demands, sweating blood to meet his high-expectations. Hence, he is familiar with the way his former lieutenant has no qualms about trampling on singular intents, not if by doing so he guarantees what he considers the greater good.

Erwin expels a sigh, seems to drag it from the depths of overworked lungs, and Levi tenses, ready to fight—though he cannot identify yet what kind of battle he is about to face. He sees Erwin estimating the impact of his next words, carefully picked, painstakingly measured, and has the urge to break him, like he has done to many communal, classic narcissists that have passed through the tables at the station.

“Hanji knows Mikasa’s current location”, Erwin starts, straightforward. Even though Levi feels physically stricken after years of avoiding pronouncing that name aloud, he has enough control on himself to keep a blank expression when Erwin’s calculating blue eyes skid across the scenery and find his own. “They discovered it a few weeks back during a follow-up investigation. We agreed it’d be unjust to keep silent about this matter, so we left her a message.”

Levi breathes in, and breathes out. He thinks he should be outraged. He thinks that he should feel indignant and could justifiably lash out, that it would be a rightful response. He thinks a lot at that crucial instant, yet all he can manage to do is press his eyelids shut, tight they hurt, and whisper a bitter, “I see.”

“We saw her outside”, Hanji supplies. Firm but quiet. Quick and deadly, like a spitting snake.

His veins freeze.

“Was she alone?”

They waver. That is all he needs to know before storming back in, suddenly terrified of being away from his daughters. 

Before he can reach the chapel and make sure that the twins are okay, that they have not been recognized, he spots them—spots _him._

_Eren._


	2. Eye of the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren and Levi meet, there's drama, and Levi seriously needs someone to give him a hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me this long to update. I tend to overthink too much whatever I write, and then I re-write, and then I don't like it and it can get a bit messy hahaha. Thank you all for clicking in and reading this story. I hope you like the chapter. Every feedback is highly appreciated! Stay safe and healthy!

_“There are different types of families out there, sweetie.”_

_Levi halts halfway down the hall, a hand rubbing his forehead and the other keeping the laundry basket against his hipbone. He carefully presses his back against the wall, right next to his mother’s bedroom door._

_It had been a long day at the office, with a messy murder-suicide case that did not make any sense. His mother’s chats with the girls are generally entertaining, and Levi really needs the taste of triviality._

_“Like how?” Gabi asks._

_“Well, there are families that have two parents, families that have three instead… or families with no-parents but a happy mamie and her adorable granddaughters. It’s different for everyone.”_

_His mother chuckles, tender, happy. Levi can easily picture the flicker crossing his daughters’ bright eyes._

_“In our case, our family consists of a papa, a mamie and two little ones. Plus, tons of nice uncles and aunties, like Erwin, Hanji, Petra, Mike… And that’s amazing, you know? You’re very lucky to have so many people that love you! It’s something to be happy and grateful for.”_

_There is a beat of silence. Levi sighs and moves to leave, the weight of the laundry too bothersome._

_Then, “our daddy didn’t love us?” Frieda wonders._

_Gabi gasps._

_“Why? We good!”_

_For a second, he finds it hard to breathe. He intends to twirl around and intervene, but his mother_ — _she has dealt with this issue before. She has more tact than him._

_“No, girls, that’s not it. It wasn’t your fault. He wasn’t ready to be a parent for you”, she relays as gently as possible. A half-lie, Levi bitterly thinks, but a whole truth for his mother. “He needed time to deal with some issues of his own—I know it’s hard, and maybe it’s confusing now, but I promise it’ll make more sense later, okay?”_

_Levi exhales a breath and moves on._

* * *

The first thing that Levi notes, is that both Eren and Mikasa seem to have gotten even taller over the past few years, which is rather miffing because Levi thought people were supposed to stop growing at twenty something.

Maybe the budding dread is creating that illusion. Maybe their clothes, black and sleek and seemingly endless, reinforce the effect. Levi cannot tell for sure, not with the way his mind is reeling violently.

The second thing is, Eren’s hair has gotten _long_. It is not the shaggy, short mop he remembers. The ends brushes past the firm broadness of his shoulders, even when most of it has been gathered in a messy excuse of a bun. Loose, it must rival the length of Freida’s hair.

Levi takes a deep breath. Not that any of that matters.

“You’re not supposed to be here”, he states in lieu of a greeting, hard gaze pinning Eren in place.

He avoids looking him directly in the eye, his focus lingering over his cheekbones, forehead, the slope of his nose. Those turquoise gems have reappeared countless of time in his nightmares. They manifested like tender lanterns in the death of the night, carrying a sense of hope that only proved to be false and destructive. They severed his sleep hours for _years,_ worsening his already quite delicate insomnia. Levi cannot bear even the idea of confronting them in real life. Not _now_ and maybe not ever.

For a second, he is overwhelmed with annoyance.

“Levi”, someone speaks politely. “We’re sorry for coming unannounced.”

“For intruding, you mean”, he corrects. Sharp, biting. Miserable, too.

Armin cautiously emerges from behind Eren, and the sight of him sparks a flame of nostalgia within that ebbs away with a bitter aftertaste. For as long as Levi can remember, this particular trio has stuck together through thick and thin. He remembers how Armin used to be so adamantly vocal about being tired of following Eren and Mikasa like a helpless dog. Regardless, Levi has never doubted he would still track them down to the end of the fucking world if they needed him.

There was a time he was convinced he would do the same for Eren _. Stupid, so stupid._

For three countryside brats from Shinganshina, the inner city of Mitras must feel so faraway, as if it were pending at the edge of the universe. A whole different dimension, even. It feels like that for Levi sometimes, even when he grew up beneath it.

“It’s not like we’re intruding”, Mikasa whispers, quiet but resolute, so jarringly tenacious. It sounds like she has been repeating that to herself, which Levi would not find odd. She looks ashen pale, careworn face molded by maturity and obscured by grief. “Kuchel was my aunt. I loved her.”

“An aunt whom you didn’t see in years.”

She grits, “and whose fault is that?”

That raises his shackles.

“Mikasa”, Eren’s raspy voice shoots in.

Levi breathes in. An abrupt myriad of unbidden memories flashes through his mind and paralyzes him for a second. It has been a while since he last heard Eren talk, since their last conversation took place before Levi flew like a coward to the capital.

The bass timbre resonates within his body like the echo of a bong, loud and bothersome.

Eren lifts a hand and leaves slender fingers hovering over Mikasa’s right shoulder, the single silver ring on the second catching the light streaming into the corridor.

“We deserve to be here—” She mutters flatly. “We aren’t intruding.”

_Deserve?_

_That’s an interesting way to phrase it._

_You don’t always get what you deserve._

Eren drops his arm at that. Levi cannot stop himself from tracking the movement, a skeptical part wanting to reaffirm what he has seen, wanting to confirm that it was indeed a wedding band. _Grave mistake._ In a blink, he stumbles upon two owlish eyes staring back at him, peering behind Eren’s trousers, full of childlike wonder that vaguely reminds him of Gabi and Frieda.

The irises are an intense teal—Eren’s turquoise mixed with a hint of greyish blue. Her _blue_.

Levi almost backtracks. He does not, of course. He is not a pissy brat.

The more he thinks about how ridiculous all of this is, the more he has the strongest urge to laugh. Something hot and hysterical bubbles from his lungs and violently surges up, scalding the back of his throat and filling his mouth with bile. His head throbs as if the pain of his mind splitting were physical, and it is like he starts dissociating, his brain shutting down while his body reacts independently: dark visage hardening, posture growing defensive.

Mikasa narrows her eyes and stiffens when she notices _why_ he has fallen quiet, when she sees _where_ he is looking at. Eren and Armin copy her spontaneously, and Levi wonders what kind of person— _monster_ , an inner voice whispers acidly—they think he is to warrant such display of wariness.

But then Eren relaxes and shakes his head in a self-deprecating gesture. He introduces the kid in a sheepish and slightly tense relief, parodying something like a truce agreement _._ The little girl—Eren’s daughter, Levi inwardly repeats—goes by _Faye._ He faintly remembers Grisha having a sister named like that. She died young.

“Your kid”, he voices out, accepting it as real.

Something ugly and hurtful twists Levi’s guts.

The truth feels invasive, and his instincts trash, struggling against his default urge to _fight_. Levi does not flee from conflicting but facing _this_ of all things seems absurd. Pointless, even.

He closes his eyes and tries recalling what the persistent therapist told him once, long time ago, back when he lost his first partner and was forced into weekly sessions to face whatever grief stage he was facing.

_Don’t fight those thoughts. Let them pass. Let them go._

_The more you engage, the more it hurts._

The exercise is as awful as ever, exasperating, like trying to quit a vice that has been a good, reliable friend for too long. But he has managed to survive. He can advance further. If not for him, for the two troublemakers under his care.

 _This is my mother’s service._ She would have wanted him to _play nice_ —and Levi almost smiles at the stinging reminiscence because, regardless if he is already halfway to his forties, his mother found entertaining to talk to him like she was still dealing with a bratty infant who knew no better. Maybe it was her way of making up for the lack of innocence that accompanied his whole childhood.

Either way, Levi owes her making this chapter of their lives as uncomplicated as possible. She is gone and it is his duty to honor her memory.

The tangled mess of fury and anxiety recedes, but it takes most of his vitality with it, tearing his chest apart and leaving a gory carnage behind. His hands spasm, his fingers curl, and he finds himself wanting to scrub the floor, his clothes, and his skin until he is satisfied.

“We’re almost done”, his voice comes back to him solid, stable, unlike everything he is guarding inside. It gives him enough strength to stand straighter and meet Eren’s expressive gaze for half a second, unphased by the conflict of emotions he finds in there. “You can go in, say whatever goodbye you wish to bid, and then go back home.”

He looks away before he can gauge their reactions. On his periphery, he catches Eren valiantly stepping forward, a complaint ready to fall from his lips, and readies himself to put him into place.

Fortunately, Armin contains him. Mikasa tugs them forward. After a long second of hesitance, which Levi abides begrudgingly, Eren grasps Faye’s hand and they disappear through the doors, with the little girl whispering something along the lines: _“is that your old friend, baba?”_

Levi drops his shoulders and presses a hand against his face, ignoring Eren’s response.

_How long until they discover them?_

_How long until he demands an answer?_

Erwin and Hanji approach as he ponders the best course of action. A tentative brush of fingers traces his left elbow, undoubtedly from Hanji because Erwin is as much of prideful prick as he can be, but Levi yanks his arm out of their reach. Another violent upsurge of rage overthrows any reason. It comes fast and hard; he is practically blinded by it.

They had _no_ right to corner him like this. This stunt was low, even for Erwin and his dubious moral compass. And Hanji should have thought better than dropping this type of bomb last minute on him. Levi respects them enough to draw personal boundaries, so he was expecting them to have the common sense and _courtesy_ to do the same, especially since this debacle involved his mother.

He throws them an icy look over his shoulder. Something that he knows it is not only unfriendly, but vicious. Hanji raises their hands defensively, smart enough to step back and give him a wide berth when he is fuming. Erwin remains immutable, hardly contrite, and tough Levi knew he would not be getting anything else, still seethes.

“Next time you two even fucking toy with my family like this, I’m breaking your arms and legs—am I clear?”

He reenters the chapel and does a quick scan to assess whatever damage might have occurred in that lapse. _Does he know already? Maybe the girls can pass as Petra’s kids_ —

He staggers, flaking under a turbulent wave of relief. Pieck is nowhere to be found, and so are his daughters.

The alleviating sensation is overwhelming.

Petra waltzes over, kind eyes now calculating as they follow Eren’s clique marching over his mother’s portrait.

“Bathroom break”, his subordinate concisely reports and gently smiles when her honey eyes meet Levi’s. “They might stop at the cafeteria on their way back because Gabi said she was hungry.”

“Ah, that’s good”, he nods. “Their appetite has been shitty since yesterday.”

Petra blinks curiously at Hanji and Erwin as they circle them and hurriedly walk ahead, almost as if they were to join Eren. Levi is not taking chances.

“Petra, I need a favor.”

She straightens in interest, her caramel eyes glistening gently.

“Anything, captain.”

“Make sure nobody mentions Gabi or Frieda to them”, he signals to the tangible ghosts from his past, voice rough, tone clipped, his frustration barely concealed. “For what it’s worth, I have _no_ daughters. Understood?”

He has always liked Petra because she is incredibly reliable. Although she is clearly taken aback by the random instruction, she does not question him, regaining her bearings instantly and shifting to observe the few mourners that linger inside the modest chapel—Mike, Nanaba, their commander, the religious people, and Eren’s group. Levi trusts Mike and Nanaba to be inconspicuous and reticent, and though Nile is unpredictable at best, he will most likely take any given opportunity to discuss work matters with Erwin.

The nuns are his main concern. Levi knows they meant well, yet they are not good at exercising discretion. Petra is aware of this, too. He is grateful when she gracefully glides through the rows and sits close to them, keeping tabs on what they divulge.

With one last look to his mother’s framed photography, his heartstrings tugging rashly at the sight of her smile, he exits.

* * *

 _Eren is curled on his bed, dead silent, enough to make anyone believe he is sleeping. But Levi knows better. The younger never sleeps so quietly_ — _scratch that, the younger never_ exists _so quietly._

_Though Levi cannot see it, he visualizes it with no trouble: Eren staring lifelessly at the wall, ocean-eyes rimmed with red, his lips bloody and swollen after constantly biting them to muffle his sobs._

_For what feels like an eternity, Levi remains frozen under the door frame. There is nothing he could say to assuage the pain_ , _that could give Eren’s the slightest relief face after his loss. Levi is not the best at comforting and Eren has already rejected his friends’ attention, and quite aggressively at that_ — _he doubts this will have a different outcome._

_In the end, he does step in, stopping by the bedside with an unreadable expression._

_“I’m laying down.”_

_Eren rolls over. His exhausted eyes blink into focus, letting Levi know the exact moment he comes back from his daze. He looks up and a frown scrunches his forehead. Anger arises within those eyes, then raw sorrow._

_“What are you doing here? Go away”, he grunts, showing him his back again. “I want to be alone.”_

_Levi almost acquiesces. But defeat has never settled well with him, so he mentally shoulders through. “Well, I don’t want to go”, he states, sounding too stupidly childish, and finds himself growing even more stressed. “I mean, let me stay with you. You’ve been alone long enough.”_

_A pause. Another eternity._

_“Just fucking get in then”, Eren grumbles._

_Again, Levi is not the best at comforting. He is not the best at reading cues either, but hopes he is not making a mistake when he lifts his arms and hugs Eren’s waist tightly._

_Eren inhales sharply. Then, he relaxes._

* * *

Levi finds his daughters in a booth, with Pieck sitting opposite to them, retelling stories about her great-grandfather’s alpaca farm.

A couple of ceramic plates rest on the clean table, almost empty, sprinkled with food scraps. Frieda is rubbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin, and Gabi is chewing loudly beside her.

“Hey, kiddos”, he pats their crowns. They perk up and tilt their chins up, and Levi discovers he can breathe more easily. “What are you eating?”

Gabi mumbles unintelligible words through a mouthful _._ Levi cannot help but wrinkle his nose as a shower of crumbles splatters over her dress, and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. Pieck and Frieda snicker in unison at his dismal expression.

“Gabi, swallow first, please.”

A muffled protest. Gabi has gotten cheese and sauce around her lips, so Levi snatches a napkin and dabs at the spots carefully. She giggles and splutters more, and he sighs.

“Pieck got us the wrap”, Frieda informs, pointing at the cafeteria menu pending behind the counter. Levi stops fussing over Gabi to skim through it. He checks the price and stashes the tidbit for later, when he pays Pieck for her extra-services. “It was yummy.”

“That’s good to know.”

“It was the healthiest thing I could find”, Pieck chimes in, grinning rather listlessly, small eyes looking blearier than before. Levi knows this whole situation has also taken a toll on her, and he appreciates the understanding. “I got one and cut it in half for them, since it’s big enough to share. Gabi’s stomach was grumbling like a bear.”

Gabi growls dramatically. As Frieda’s soft peal of laughter echoes, Levi realizes he does not feel like the ground is quavering anymore. They anchor him. Like this, the whole situation hurt less.

He needs to prioritize their well-being, though.

“I’m ordering you a cab”, he informs and Pieck raises her head, looking surprised. “I still got some things to discuss with Marlowe, but there’s no need for you to stay back when Pieck’s here…” Gabi and Frieda wear mirroring frowns as he trails off, ready to object, and he so he shakes his head in a silent warning. “You didn’t sleep well last night. I want you to rest, so you’re going home and taking a nap. I’ll be there when you wake up.”

A handful of seconds passes. Frieda’s precious eyes fill with a batch of tears.

“ _No_ ”, she whines. “Don’t wanna go.”

“It won’t be long. Half an hour at most”, Levi reassures, caressing her rosy cheek. Frieda denies with her head, his hopelessness increasing proportionally. “We can bake blackberry and lemon cupcakes when I’m back. I’ll get the ingredients on my way.”

Gabi kicks her feet under the table and hits Pieck’s knee. The babysitter jerks out of the booth, hissing faintly, and Levi’s thin eyebrows arch down. He confirms Pieck is alright before giving his daughter a disapproving look.

“ _Gabi_.”

“But papa…”

“I know you’re sad, and frustrated”, he grits out. “But you don’t get to hurt Pieck.”

The babysitter keeps her lips shut, compassion coloring her features at the outburst.

“I wanna stay with papa”, Gabi retorts. A sad, tiny whine.

“Me too”, Frieda echoes wetly. “We stay here.”

“Your papa has to deal with grownups’ responsibilities, sweethearts. You remember how tedious those can get, don’t you?” Pieck tries negotiating, as soft and candid as she can be, and they snap their heads in her direction with similar sullen expressions.

Levi retracts his hand to massage his pounding forehead, eyes stinging even as they fall shut, feeling like his insides have been reduced to shreds with his mother’s absence _and_ Eren’s appearance—with the glimpse of _his_ daughter.

He is struggling to gather strength to keep his shit together.

“We can wait for him at home”, she continues. “I’ll make hot cocoa and you can cuddle in papa’s bed until he’s back. I’ll be with you all the time.”

“I want papa. I wanna cuddle _papa_ ”, Gabi says, twisting her small body back to nuzzle his shirt. “Don’t wanna go.”

Levi knows he should try to be separated from his daughters as little as possible, but he is not sure if he can afford the risk with Eren lurking nearby. He _cannot_.

It gnaws on the back of his conscience, though. Rationally, he understands he should not be hiding, that he should acknowledge the consequences of his own choice and consider allowing Eren to meet the twins, maybe not precisely _now_ but later. But he has to start somewhere.

He is too tired to even think about that.

“I can order wood-fired pizza tonight”, he suddenly bribes, urgency turning into despair. Gabi and Frieda falter for a second, gawking at him through tearful eyes, knowing the extent of his dislike for take-out places. “We can watch a movie later while we eat.”

“On the couch?”

He gulps. “Yeah— _but_ you have to go home with Pieck now.”

“ _No_!” They shriek in unison. “No, papa, that’s not good!”

They regard him with defiance, eyes burning with the same intensity of the nightmare that awaits back in the chapel. In moments like this, Levi is reminded how easy it is to tell their resemblance.

Levi deflates, the need to argue evaporating. He cannot do this anymore.

He is too fucking tired. Why is he even trying?

“Alright”, he breathes out. “If you want to stay, I have a condition.”

* * *

_Eren’s smile is miserable. It is forced, weak, shaky. Levi thinks it is the perfect match to his own._

_“She’s_ — _what?”_

 _“Pregnant”, his voice wanes with the upsurge of a broken sob. Levi’s throat closes up, refusing to let air in, refusing the necessary oxygen for his brain to process the words. He cannot listen past the deafening white noise swamping in his eardrums. “Levi, I… I didn’t_ — _I swear I wasn’t_ —”

_“You’re having a baby”, he deadpans and Eren winces, nodding slowly, as if it physically hurt him to do so. Levi begins disconnecting, feels like his conscience is falling asleep while his body stays awake. “Shouldn’t you be happier?”_

_“What?”_

_“You’ve always wanted kids_ ”, _he states matter-of-factly and wonders why Eren’s face contorts the way it does, from a cold-shock to pure ire and pain, and then something cruel. Levi is not lying, though. “I can’t give you any. You know that.”_

 _“That’s not_ — _I don’t care about that. Why would you_ — _heavens, Levi, you know I don’t care, don’t you?!_ ” _Eren becomes more agitated, his words stumbling out of his lips in a tirade. It is funny, Levi thinks, because he is so numb now. “I told you before, I’d be happy with adopting a kid, or with having just a damn hairless dog or cat or whatever because you can’t stand fur everywhere_ —”

_“But you’re having a baby”, Levi interrupts. “That’s game changing.”_

_“It doesn’t have to be-_ ” _Eren chokes. Terror overtakes his expression and Levi cannot grasp why he is so upset. He thinks of everything so clearly. It could not be easier. “You can be part of_ — _”_

_“I can’t”, he replies, calm, pensive. “She’s in a delicate state, Eren. She’ll need your full support. I’ll be just an adding pressure.”_

_“You don’t know that-”_

_“But we_ do— _she gets frenetic with me around, remember?” Levi emphasizes. “Plus, your father’s a traditionalist, Eren. He won’t accept his first grandchild being a bastard. You need his support to finish college. You can barely cover your expenses with your current income and now you’re having a baby_ — _do you have any idea of how taxing that is going to be? Emotionally, financially?”_

 _“I can drop out or change to online classes, get another job_ —”

 _“Eren, please…” Levi whispers and his voice finally crumbles. “You’re having a_ baby. _I can’t do it.”_

_“But I love you…” Eren mutters, despairing, frustrated. “I can’t lose you.”_

* * *

Levi’s closing words are a simple farewell for his mother. Concise, honest, short.

As he absently nods to the few people who have stayed until the end, he realizes he is responding on autopilot. He _yearns_ to drive home, call the least questionable pizza restaurant, and cradle his daughters close as they watch one of those silly animated films that they enjoy so much. He still needs to clean his mother’s bedroom, though, and prepare their house for the valuation before he settles a deal for a new place.

At least he is required to work tomorrow—which is _good_. Maybe he should be dreading the idea of going back after having spent the past few days locating important papers and enduring draining calls, which is technically what awaits him in the precinct, but he _needs_ that routine. Supervising his division of nonconformists, sorting out and assigning urgent cases, keeping the proper records and reports up to date, and managing his superiors’ nonsense is something he _knows_ how to deal with.

“Call us if you need anything”, people keep saying as they leave. Levi wonders how many of them actually mean it, and how many of them are promising empty things. He does not do well with hypocrisy.

It feels rather anticlimactic, to watch the last attenders filtering out in silence through the main doors. He should follow but his feet are as heavy as lead, and the idea of walking away from the parlor leaves him with a queasy stomach. He has already said his goodbye, but…

He cannot help but ask why it keeps getting harder.

* * *

_“Which names do you like?”_

_Levi unglues his eyes from the book he has been reading, a dystophic novel Hanji recommended him and that he is liking more than he would ever admit. Eren is curled beside him, staring curiously at something on his phone._

_“Names?”_

_“Yeah”, Eren shifts to face him, laying on his side. The light from the lamp behind baths him in a warmth that makes Levi tremble. “Like_ — _if we were ever going to adopt a baby, and we had the chance to name them, what names would you consider?”_

_“Ah…” Levi frowns, reverting to the last lines of the chapter. “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about that.”_

_“Indulge me.”_

_“Mm… I like Gabriel or Gabriela.”_

_“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a fan of biblical names”, Eren teases._

_“Shut up”, Levi rolls his eyes. “I just like how they sound.”_

_“I like short names”, Eren suddenly hypes up. “I’ve always wanted to name my kid with a short-syllabled name, or, you know, with a nickname_ _directly_ _.”_

_“What?”_

_“Like_ — _Tiffany, for example. What if I had a daughter and instead of naming her Tiffany, I named her Fanny because that’s what we’re going to be calling her either way? That’d be fun.”_

_Levi stares at him for a long time, processing what he has just heard._

_“You’re so stupid. Why am I even dating you?”_

* * *

“Here, Mr. Ackerman.”

Marlowe has guided him to his modest office upstairs, crammed with the old-fashioned furniture and a library with an impressive collection of animal biology encyclopedias. There is a long window bay that oversees the parlor’s mausoleum and the well-kept garden where his daughters seem to be playing tag.

Levi glances away and takes the file Marlowe proffers, knowing already the contents inside. He stares at the young man with sore eyes, nodding as the director reconfirms that their last arrangement prevails, repeating a few clauses that he should not forget.

They discussed the distribution of his mother’s cremated remains once and that is a conversation Levi does not wish to relive. He has asked to keep the urn in the funeral home until he organizes a trip to Maria—his mother expressed once that she wanted to rest outside Sina’s bland territory, in a beautiful forest of giant trees beyond Rose that serves as a touristic attraction. He regrets ever thinking that his mother was being silly.

“I wanted to ask about the attorney you recommended me the other day”, he hears himself saying, incredibly devoid of _anything_. He is absent from his own body, glancing back at the garden and the happy twins goofing around with blurry notions of reality. “I know some lawyers from work, but they’re either snobbish jerks, or are too busy trying to keep afloat in the corrupt system. So.”

“Ah, yes—” The flustered director rummages through a drawer and a thick pack of papers, and hands over a delicate business card. Marlowe’s fingers quiver slightly. “Hitch will help you sort out every pending issue as quickly as possible. She’s a bit eccentric, but trustable.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

Levi’s fingertips graze the pages in the file as he slips the card inside. His mind travels to the reports that must have pile on his desk and that need to be reviewed, and the big murder case involving members from the inner police that his boss is most likely going to make him explain to the press. The throbbing headache he gets is familiar and somewhat comforting.

He snaps the file shut and mentally starts cataloging his tasks as he goes down the staircase. He is not expecting any of his guests to loiter back, not even Erwin or Hanji, who have a midnight train to catch to Stohess. However, as he climbs down the last step, his eyes sweep a gaze around and fall upon Eren. He is sitting by himself, blazer removed and folded over his lap, elbows perched on top as he stares into nothing.

His aspect is horribly worn-out: half-lidded eyes red and swollen, shoulders hunched with fatigue, back arched in mournful defeat. Naturally, Levi glances around and fails to spot anyone from his clique—Armin, Mikasa, or the little girl named Faye. His eyebrows crawl upward.

_Why is the fucking brat alone? Where is his family?_

With a scoff, he twirls and pretends to withdraw to meet his daughters, but the faint noise of wood creaking under him manages to pierce Eren’s ears. The stormy oceans contained inside Eren’s gaze quickly seek him, nearly drowning Levi with their intensity.

They share a prolonged stare, grating and poignant. Levi silently stores away another few changes that he failed to notice before, preparing for the inevitable moment when the girls become old enough to ask about their father. Eren’s features have become more defined, sharpened by age, and there are traces of a stubble that has not been properly shaved. He is paler than Levi remembers, as if he had not been exposing himself to sunlight as often as he did. He looks—like a stranger.

“Why are you still here?” Levi queries. Maybe he should not humor him, maybe he should just leave, but he cannot. “If you want to get to Stohess before sundown, you should be already on your way. Though Sina’s crime rate is low, personal security can’t be guaranteed after dark. Underground tugs like to terrorize uptown people every once in a while, and outsiders are easy targets.”

For a moment, Eren appears baffled. Levi cannot blame him—he has always been a man of few words, sticking to say what is necessary; he does _not_ nervously ramble.

Eren shifts. He corrects his posture and seems to brace himself for whatever impact he might cause with his next words, which Levi already knows will not like hearing.

“I’m not traveling tonight”, Eren says, picking his jacket up and trudging over. He is cautious, as if stepping close to a spooked animal. Levi keeps his body away from the hallway that will lead him to his daughters, aware that he needs to keep them hidden. “I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

“What a gentleman”, he aloofly compliments. It sounds like a taunt, and Eren’s eyes flash and burn. Levi expels a wearisome sigh. “Don’t worry. I got my sidearm strapped under my jacket. I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“I didn’t meant it like that”, Eren counters, the subtlest hint of frustration escaping his tone. Levi hates that he needs to angle his head up to look at him, for Eren towers over like a bloody skyscraper. “You remember, don’t you? How I was after my mom’s passing…” Levi does not bother nodding, staring at him blankly. Of course, he does. He remembers every single moment they shared. 

Eren flounders for words, gesturing as he explains himself.

“I saw Erwin and Hanji leaving before. Everyone else, too. I didn’t want you to be alone.”

Levi’s anger flares at that, a primal, resentful thing that scorches him down to his very core. It gets washed away by a bittersweet wave of sadness, chilly and so dreadful. But Levi prefers being riled-up than moping, so he forces to retrace the more trustable path of anger. It is scathing and ugly, but nothing that he is not already familiar with.

“How bold of you to assume that I would be alone, Eren—it’s that what you think of me, uh? That I’m a lonely man with no friends or family left?”

Eren loses color at that. “I didn’t mean to-”

His own expression sours.

“Look, your intention’s noble and whatever, but I don’t need it. Please, just go the fuck away. You have a family to attend and—” Levi almost missteps, almost admits out loud that _so does he._ It is better if Eren believes he is alone now. “I respect the fact that you came—it was a ploy worth of a shitshow, yes, but you’d need some balls to go with it. And my mother still liked you, so I can’t deny she would’ve appreciated you three showing up.”

Eren swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Kuchel—”

“She’s finally free”, he cuts him off. “She went through enough in this hell. It was my fault none of you got to see in the past few years, so don’t feel guilty or whatever. She’s better now.”

Levi believes they are done with their chitchat, but Eren is known to disagree to everything. He raises his ring-less hand and tightens his fingers around Levi’s wrist.

He freezes and wretches his arm away, repulsed by the thought of how comforting it felt that Eren’s overly warm, slightly calloused palm has not changed. His stomach flips with self-abhorrence.

Eren tentatively scuffles his shoes against the hardwood flooring, and internally debates something that has him delaying whatever he wants to say. It exasperates Levi. At least, he does not attempt touching him again.

Levi would break every single one of his bones if he tried.

“Eren—”

“We should talk, Levi”, Eren tacitly requests. His timbre comes with a tense quality, heavy and emotional. When Levi does not consent, Eren pushes further. “You just disappeared without trace, packed your all stuff and took your mother away. Do you have any idea of how worried I was? I visited the police station everyday, just in case I could get _anything_ about your whereabouts, but it was useless—I was going _crazy_. All this time, I just... I kept wondering… Did you even _care_?”

Levi almost flinches at the way Eren’s voice cracks, almost recoils when he is slapped by the memory of impulsiveness. Everything he did after making up his mind was deliberate, but the kickstart of all was an irrational spark.

He responds with a shrug, reinforcing the thought of protecting his daughters. It does not matter if Eren is hurt, because Frieda and Gabi are Levi’s priority.

“That happened years ago”, he states, hoping he sounds patronizing enough. He watches closely as Eren curls his fists until his knuckles are white, and his eyes are clouded by resentment. _Good._ “After our breakup, there was nothing tying me to Shinganshina.”

“What about _Mikasa_? Hanji? You had people there who cared for you! _I_ was there, Levi!”

“We weren’t together anymore.”

“You’re fucking-”

“Papa!”

The nonchalant facade shatters for a second.

Levi’s veins grow frigid and his stomach twists painfully at the high-pitched, tingly call. Fright clogs his windpipes like solid cement, and the world seems to move faster around him, yet somehow slower at the same time. It takes him an instant to turn his face left, internally screaming at the sight of Frieda emerging from the corridor. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair is in disarray, her shoes dirty with mud from the garden—it conjures an unbidden image, and he cannot breathe. She reminds him of a young version of Eren that he once saw in a homemade film Carla showed him.

Her azure eyes are tearful and frantic.

Levi’s panic skyrockets.

“Papa, Gabi—” She hiccups, and his instincts kick in, urging him to swoop her in his arms and embrace her, shielding her from Eren’s burning eyes.

His heart hammers against his ribs, violent, savage, enough for Frieda to wince confusedly when she rests a tiny palm against his chest.

“Papa, Gabi’s hurt—her _arm_.”

“Levi?” Eren’s body warmth feels close, _too_ close. It suffocates him. “Who—”

“What happened?” He demands, ignoring Eren, ignoring his presence and questions, and his shaky feet begin leading him forward. “How did she get hurt?”

“Fell—a statue—”

“Levi, wait—”

Levi accelerates his pace, sparing no look back. Frieda cranes her neck and stares behind, but Levi does not dare to check her reaction to the stranger, does not try to decipher what she must be thinking.

He does not risk following her gaze, either.

“Go home, Eren!” He shouts.

Again, he flees like a coward.

Only this time, Eren goes after him.

* * *

It is a _nightmare_.

Levi has always known that Gabi has a strange knack to get herself in trouble. She is smart, mirthful, and likes to take the _testing boundaries_ part to a whole new level. In the past few years, she has given Levi enough scares for a lifetime, clambering tall trees like a monkey and darting right across deserted streets or crowded malls, leaping from surfaces. Things have never gone past that, however.

Now, she half-sits, half-lies in the ground, clutching one feeble limb against her side and hissing as Pieck fusses over her, trying to check for any other injury. At least there is no blood. Levi doubts he could stay fully calm at the sight of his daughter’s blood.

Gabi’s golden eyes are tearful, and her hair glistens as it sticks to her clammy forehead, but she does not shed a single tear. In fact, Frieda seems to be weeping for the both of them, repeating that is her fault that Gabi got hurt. Levi does attempt to hush her, multiple times, but his attention is instantly yanked to his other daughter when she cries out at the sight of him.

“Mr. Ackerman—” Pieck stands up and receives Frieda in her arms. He drops the file on the grass and hovers over Gabi, his body trembling as she makes eye-contact with him. She looks terrified. “She fell from that statue. I’m _so_ sorry, I wasn’t looking—”

“Doesn’t matter now”, he snaps and creeps closer. “Gabi, hey. Can you stand? Does it hurt anywhere else?”

“My arm”, she whimpers, cupping her loose arm. Still, she tries kneeling and standing on shaky legs, and Levi assists her with a cautious hand on her waist, mindful of not even brushing her injured arm. “It hurts, papa. Hurts so _much_.”

“I know, kiddo. I’m going to take you to the doctor, and we’ll get it fixed soon, alright? Try to breathe deeply with me for now—just like that, yeah. You’re brave, Gabi”, he inhales and exhales, once, twice, until the huge shock of the fall dwindles, and she can tentatively walk. “Don’t move your arm. We’ll be in the hospital in a second.”

Eren is frozen under the arch of the hallway, turquoise eyes wide and frantic as they alternate between Freida, who is crying inconsolably against Pieck’s neck, and Gabi, who plasters herself against Levi’s thigh but does not allow him to carry her, afraid that he might jostle her by accident. Levi staggers when their gazes collide, rain and fire and disaster, and he _knows_ that Eren is linking the dots fast, that he is assessing their sizes to estimate their age, that he is deducting years and over-analyzing Levi’s recent behavior. He will reach a dooming conclusion and Levi cannot even gather the will to defend his lie, not when Eren fixes a stare on Gabi and Levi can _see_ the heartbreak on his eyes, can almost hear something in him shatter because Gabi is Carla’s spitting image.

Honestly, all that Levi wants at that moment is to burn the world down to ashes. He wants to scream and yell profanities and break something, because he is so fucking sick of these twisted games. Eren finding out about Gabi and Frieda on his mother’s memorial service is—too much.

“I’m coming along”, Eren declares firmly, no room for discussion, dark visage and fierce growl making Pieck squeak and inch closer to Levi.

The babysitter splutters a protest, and glances quizzically at him, but Levi is too worried about Gabi to mind them. He ushers his daughter forward, and they rush past Eren and into the dim corridor. Levi does not peep back when he senses more than one set of footsteps following him, just cursing inwardly.

“Try anything and I’ll make you regret it”, he calls out, because he _knows_ Eren is obstinate by default, that he can be quite the pain in the ass when he has reasons to. Levi has fucked up, and there is no time to figure shit out.

“Who are you?” Gabi wonders, high-pitched voice still taut with pain, as Levi tries strapping her. He is not successful, considering the circumstances.

Eren has boldly climbed on his car to occupy the narrow space between Frieda and Gabi. Levi wants to kill him. He _will_ once his daughter has been properly treated and patched up. For the moment, he has no time to spare a scene and deal with Eren’s bullshit.

Levi exhales, resigned, tired, and fuming, and glowers spitefully at the younger man, who is glaring back at him.

“That’s your stupid alpha father”, he spats and slams the car door shut.

He diverts his eyes and takes a moment before climbing into the driver seat. Strangely enough, he does not lament the admission—maybe the less than delicate way it was delivered is far from ideal, yet Levi does not itch to take his words back. He hopes his daughters bombard Eren with enough questions to make him regret ever intruding in the first place.

* * *

Levi tightens his grip on the wheel, both indignant and flabbergasted. The ride to the nearest hospital has been _weird_ , nauseating, awful.

“I supervise salaries and bonuses, so everyone can get their money to buy food and things they like”, Eren says, giving them a kid-friendly job description of his current position as a payroll coordinator.

He has acted decently so far, navigating his way through the chaos with more tact than what Levi could have expected. For a man that looked ready to beat the shit out of Levi back in the lobby of the funeral home, he surely knows how to be around kids. _Of course, he does_ , Levi thinks, _he has a daughter of their age. Faye._

“Is it fun?” Gabi wonders.

Eren makes a displeased face. “Not all the time. Some people might try anything for extra pocket money.”

“You should do something fun”, Frieda gently pipes in. 

“Papa fights bad guys”, Gabi says. “That’s cool!”

“Oh, I know.”

 _This is ridiculous_ , Levi concludes, nearly hysterical. Gabi has almost forgotten about the pain on her arm— _almost_ , because she screams bloody murder whenever the car hits any road bump, and bile shoots like lava through his throat—, keeping her focus on the man next to her. Even Frieda, who is always taciturn around strangers, has been a chatterbox since they left the parlor, small body tilted forward to scrutinize Eren as if he were a fantastic creature taken from one of her fairy tales.

Levi grimaces at their exchange. Eren might be their biological father, but... _but_. At least their childishly imprudent curiosity has made him squirm. They have been asking things nonstop, wondering where he has been all this time, why he had never visited them before, if he likes lizards and whether he would be up to adopting one because _papa says we’re too young to have a pet…_

“I live far from here. It’s hard to keep communication with the distance, and your papa and I haven’t talked in a long while…” He has answered, staring at Levi through the rear view mirror. “I’m sorry I wasn’t available before.”

“Mamie said you had things to do”, Frieda mentions, shy and gloomy, twisting her thumbs. Eren gulps. “Did you do your things?”

“I’m doing them still.”

“Will you leave? Again?”

A pause. Levi almost runs a red light. Pieck shrieks beside him.

“Yes”, Eren affirms, and he sounds _pained_. “But I’ll come back.”

“Promise?”

He nods.

Levi’s headache is almost a migraine at that point. Pieck will not stop fidgeting, stealing glimpses of Eren every five seconds, bemused and absolutely clueless about what is happening. Levi cannot say he is in a better mindset. It all feels chaotic and, for the first time _ever,_ he has no urge to fight the current. He has no willpower to do so, either.

They arrive at the hospital in fifteen minutes that feel like an _eternity_. Eren gets off without saying anything and escorts Pieck as she carries Gabi inside, Frieda staying with him as he searches for an empty slot. He is quivering when he finally parks the car and the gravity of everything dawns on him, like a violent, cold downpour. 

He presses his forehead against the wheel and wonders what the hell he is doing. 

_What the hell is this day?_

“Papa”, Frieda quietly utters, and he looks back to see her frowning at her lap. “Is Eren our present?”

He tenses up. “What?”

“Mamie said she—” Frieda sniffles. “She had presents. If she leaves, she gives us presents. Is Eren our present?”

Levi almost has a meltdown. His vision blurs.

“I don’t know, Frikka.”

“I want my daddy”, she admits.

He sighs.

“I think he wants you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: I chose Frieda as one of the twins because, the first time I saw her in the manga, I thought for a moment that Eren was looking at a female version of himself in those memories. It got me so confused, I never forgot it.  
> As for Gabi, she reminded a lot of Isayama's old sketch of Eren as a girl, and then I watched the last season trailer and saw her, she vaguely reminded me of Carla's, too.


End file.
